Disclaimer: The only thing I can claim with regard to the fanfiction set forth below is my undying passion for Les Miz and all of Hugo's timeless characters.

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By the time I get into the barricade, I'm panting. Climbing over tons of tables, mattresses, chairs, and other assorted junk had honestly not been an easy task. You persuaded me to join you at the barricades, but now that I'm here, I'm not sure what to do. I stand silently for a few moments looking like an idiot and then finally spot you.

"Hey, Gavroche," I call to get your attention.

You spin around. "Oh, hi Navet. Listen, do you think you can go get a basket for me?"

"A basket? What for?"

"To collect bullets in. We've fallen short!"

Before I realize the consequences of what I'm doing, I find myself running barefoot toward the wineshop. Pulling open the heavy door, I step inside. The cold floor feels good to my bare feet, which have been walking over scorched roads all day. 'A basket,' I think to myself. 'Where?' My eyes search the shop in desperation. Finally, I see what I have come for and grab the largest basket I can find.

After coming out of the wineshop I thought I'd have to look for you again, but you seem to appear out of nowhere and grab the basket from me.

I watch you run into the street with it. I'm not sure what to do with myself at this point. Following you would seem a bit daft since I don't have a basket, so I just watch you picking through the dead. Watching a young gamin go through dead men's pockets, singing boldly as he seeks his treasure, is an odd sight and I can't help but laugh to myself.

I suddenly realize the danger in your actions when a bullet whizzes by, just missing you. I open my mouth to cry out, but my voice is lost in the sound of gunfire and other ramblings of the barricade. I sit there, spellbound, as several more bullets come close to striking you. You don't look worried, though, as you stand, singing and taunting the shooters, making game of this most dangerous behavior. This "game" of yours goes on for quite some time and eventually, everyone at the barricade is watching, breathless and unbelieving.

After what seems like hours, though was more likely minutes, one of the bullets strikes it's target. A low moan escapes me as you stumble backwards and drop to the ground. In seconds, you rise again. There is blood running from your face and down your arms, but you continue to sing:

"Je suis tombe par terre

C'est la faute a Voltaire

Le nez dans le ruisseau

C'est la faute a---"

"Rousseau," I whisper as if completing the verse would magically bring you back. It doesn't. Two men rush from the barricade (forgive me for not remembering their names), but I already know that you are dead. I watch dumbly as one of the men places your body on a table and covers it with a black shawl. That's when the sobs begin, deep and racking, causing my entire body to shake. I lean on a chair to support myself and suddenly feel exhaustion, sadness, and anger overcome me as your death replays in my head.

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I guess I fell asleep because the next thing I know someone is shaking me. I awaken with a start staring at a man covered with blood.

"Get up, boy," he shouted.

"Wh-who are you?"

"My name is Antoine and I've come to tell you you've survived."

"I don't understand."

Antoine took a step back and swept his arm to the side. I then notice all the dead bodies. Tons of corpses stare back at me guiltily with blank eyes. I understand now. I lived, they didn't.

I don't really feel like crying anymore as I climb over the barricade. Actually, I don't think I can. It's like I'm a sponge that's been rung dry. Your song has been ringing in my head since you died. 'The song,' I realize bitterly 'That will follow me the rest of my life.'